No One Mourns the Wicked
by spectacal
Summary: On the day everything ended, the day that Sam died, Dean only remembers a red sky and eyes of the same color. Spoilers up to and including season four. AU Apocafic. Not a Death!fic at all, as much as the summary wants you to think otherwise.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I flipped a coin: heads for this - the apocafic I've always wanted to write and will soon learn to hate - or tails for a continuation in the Supernatural/Firefly crossover I was working on. This won, obviously. And I have no idea where I'm going with it. So... sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

----

_Was a long and dark December  
When the banks became cathedrals__  
And the fog became God_

_Priests clutched onto bibles  
And went out to fit their rifles  
And the cross was held aloft  
- _Violet Hill, Coldplay

----

The world actually ended on a Wednesday, Dean remembers.

At the time, though, he thought it was a Tuesday. At least until he looked down a day later and found his watch cracked and stopped on 12:16 A.M.

It was never anything out of the ordinary for a hunt to keep them out late, and that one - the last one, Dean remembers - was no different. It was a series of killings in a church in Fucking Nowhere, Alabama. All signs pointed to a haunting, an easy salt and burn of a man that research turned up buried in the basement. They would be in, out, and halfway to another nowhere by morning.

Dean remembers that any suspicions he had of the hunt were oddly suppressed by the soft glow of the candles lit along the walls of the church. Prayer, Dean recalls, for the people turning up dead in the otherwise quiet town. The small flickering lights were the only guidance thought the otherwise dark church, flecks catching in the dulled shovel Sam carried.

Dean remembers how normal it was, right up until she showed up.

Even constantly alert, just like they were trained, they never saw it coming.

Dean lost time between being on his feet and being slammed against the wall. A table of candles was knocked over at his feet, quietly extinguishing themselves in thin streams of smoke that rose to the ceiling. Dean's first thought was _fucking ghost_ or something close to it. He had reached for the shotgun that had been in his hands a second before, quickly finding himself unable to move in the slightest.

Sam, after Dean searched mindlessly for him for a few seconds, was in the same predicament across the room. Dean could barely see him in the shadows, but for the light coming in through the stained glass window above his head.

Dean remembers how it cast a stark and violent light over both his brother and their visitor, her white eyes cutting through the dark like knives.

"_Bitch._" Dean bit out, and Lilith smiled.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Deano?" She replied, the smile widening to the point that it twisted the face she wore, inhuman and wrong. She was in an older body; a redhead with more makeup than needed and a figure that would have had Dean crawling to her under different circumstances. Instead, Dean felt sick to his very core.

"Got tired of playing tea party?" He asked humorously, hiding behind a front and trying to push the blind panic to the back of his mind.

Lilith shrugged at that, running her hands over her hips. "A girl's gotta grow up someday. After all," she said as she turned her eyes to Sam, "I'm here for something much tastier."

It was all Dean could do not to lose his calm when she reached a hand out towards his brother. "Don't you touch him." He said, danger behind his calm tone.

"And what are you going to do about it?" She snapped, still smiling. "You're all the way over there, Mr. Tough Guy."

"I swear to--"

"Who?" Lilith took a step away from Sam, sneering at Dean. "I'd like to know who _you'd_ swear to. God?" The word seemed to burn in her mouth, coming out sharp and too rough. "Cause believing in Him has gotten you so far."

When Dean didn't answer, Lilith just shook her head. "Where are your angels now, Dean?"

She turned her back to him and Dean strained against his invisible bonds. He yelled something when she placed a hand on Sam's forehead, covering his eyes. He saw Sam struggle, try to get away with no avail.

"I know it now." Lilith leaned in close, whispers that echoed off the walls. "All of these seals, and the one I need is right in front of me. And to think I tried to kill you, Sam."

Dean watched as Sam just _stopped_, his breath catching as if he were in pain. Dean's mind pinpointed to only one thing as he fought, _nonosampleasegodno_.

Dean never forgot how Lilith looked over her shoulder, eyes white and brighter than Dean had ever seen.

He never forgot her smile, the way her warped voice formed, "I'll see you downstairs, Dean."

He never forgot how Sam screamed in a way that Dean never heard before as it followed him down into the darkness.

----

Dean groaned inwardly as he ran a gloved finger over a hole forming between the fabric of his boot and the sole. It would be the third pair he destroyed, and getting this pair was hard enough. Looking for a pair his size this time around would be even more difficult.

A cold draft passed through the trees, seemingly targeting the small hole and somehow making it feel a lot bigger. He cursed out loud.

Dean Winchester, standing out in the cold wilderness, hunting demons, and complaining about shoes.

Perfect.

"Cold, sir?" Dean cast a quick glance at Cody, at whom he rolled his eyes and muttered something about where the wind could take the cold and shove it.

"Sir?"

"I said I'm fine, kid." Dean replied finally, straightening up and doing his best impression of warm. Cody gave a lopsided smile, buying it, and moving to go on ahead of Dean.

Cody had turned twenty days before, and looked every bit of it through that smile. He was way too young to be out here, Dean thought. Where he made objection, others denied it, believing in kids growing up fast in this world to survive. It hit close to home with Dean, considering his training at an even younger age than anyone here. But Cody...

Cody was shaggy haired and skinny, with a sweet smile and a mindset that belonged in college, not out here in the wilderness with men who had seen too much.

Dean would never admit the root of blind protection he felt for the kid, not now when it was buried behind months of denial.

"Winchester." Came a voice somewhere off to his side, low but traveling easily through the silence. Hopkins stood beside a tree that leaned to far to its side, gun held ready against his chest. His eyes were on Dean, but his attention was everywhere else. "Stop bitching and move your ass." Dean nodded, but said nothing.

They had been out there since the early sight of the sun, morning light still soft through the dead, frozen trees around them. Fresh snow covered the ground from that night, filling the tracks he evening guard had left behind. Passing the men that morning, Dean knew that this weather was probably springtime to them if their red, raw hands gave anything away. Dean had a job to do; no room to complain.

They had reported footprints that hadn't belonged to any of the guard. The trail was quickly lost to the flurries that followed but for speckles of blood that led to nothing. It would be a straggler from another colony, the night guard had warned, but everyone knew better than to take _footprints_ lightly. It had been quiet for months, but even an unidentifiable shift in the trees here or a noise there was enough to send the entire town into a panic.

Considering what was out there, Dean didn't blame them.

Hopkins he was used to. Having Cody there, though, set Dean completely on edge itself.

Never too careful.

The motto of the new world.

Hopkins was returning a glare Dean seemed to be giving him. Dean grinned instead and Hopkins kept walking, his finger on the trigger of his gun. It was nothing new.

Hopkins was one of the men who had seen too much. He was living in Knoxville, Tennessee the night Dean watched the world end in Alabama. Dean doesn't know the gory details - hell, after seven months of being beside him everyday, he doesn't even know if Hopkins is a first name or a last name - he just knows that he looked the devil himself in the eye and that his family, his wife and his little girl, didn't live to see the world for what it was today.

Dean considered them lucky, and made sure to keep it to himself.

As big of a dick as Hopkins was, Dean trusted him, even if the feeling wasn't mutual. Hopkins was a good man who followed his instincts too much, but was smart enough to hold his own as a hunter, even this late in the game. He was smart enough not to trust a man with the last name "Winchester."

Hopkins had done his research and figured Dean out pretty fast. Neither of them advertised it. Hopkins knew, and Dean knew he knew, and they left it at that.

A noise that sounded like something besides snow falling off of the trees had all three of them alert at once. Dean raised his gun to mirror Cody and Hopkins, listening, waiting. It happened again, a combination of a thump and a strangled scream. It wasn't far off, somewhere off to the north, and Dean knew from Hopkins waving his hand for them to follow to be careful. They moved soundlessly through the snow, the early light guiding them.

As they got closer, Dean could swear he could hear voices, but he couldn't make out the words. Another yell filled the silence, this time sounding like a trapped animal. Hopkins went his own way as Cody pressed himself up against a tree trunk. Dean hid behind his own just a few feet from Cody.

Holding his breath and his gun close to his chest, Dean peeked around the trunk.

Down a small snow-covered slope from where Dean stood, there were three figures. One huddled in the snow, jeans torn and wearing only a thin, long-sleeved shirt. The face was hidden by too much hair, but Dean could clearly see it was a man. He was huddled over, arms protectively around him as if he could curl up and hide from the two others who stood over him. A man and a woman, dressed equally as unprepared for the weather and black eyes visible even from a distance.

"It took us a while to find you." The woman continued in a low, hissing voice. "I'm surprised you made it this far with Him reeling around inside of you."

"I don't know what the fuck you did, boy," the man said, his voice equally as menacing, "but you'd better fix it."

The man crouched down, his hand fisting in the other's hair and twisting. The hunched man cried out, but didn't beg. Didn't plead for his life, as if he had faced down demons before.

Whatever the possessed man was going to do Dean would never know, as he suddenly jerked forward with gunshots that rang out. Red blossomed on his chest just as Hopkins burst from his hiding place in the trees, his gun raised and firing again.

Dean flung himself from cover as well, sliding easily down the slope. Behind him, he could hear Cody start an exorcism. Something basic they had all been taught the moment they joined the guard, but enough to get the job done.

The woman shrieked inhumanly, her attention immediately on Dean. "_You._" She hissed. She cast a quick glance to the man on the ground, right before she threw her head back and laughed. Dean put a bullet between her eyes, shutting her up and giving him enough time to pull his knife from its sheath.

She died in a burst of light, demon and any human left alike, the knife driven to the hilt into her stomach.

The other demon, who had Hopkins up against a tree in a choke hold, dissipated in a cloud of violent black smoke as Cody finished the exorcism. The body dropped, lifeless.

Hopkins sucked in a greedy breath and groaned, reaching an arm around his side. Dean watched for a moment, but offered no help.

Cody joined them down the slope, immediately kneeling down beside the still hunched man. Dean came forward a few steps, but watched instead as Cody placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.

"Hey. They're gone. Are you okay?"

The man lifted his head up, eyes meeting Cody's for a second before they turned on Dean.

All of the air in Dean's body suddenly seemed to be sucked out. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't breathe right and... and...

No.

The man's eyes didn't falter as he unfolded himself sightly, wide and almost panicked as Dean's. _Almost._

When Dean took a step back, the man reached out a needy hand. "Dean..."

_No_. That wasn't his voice. It _wasn't_.

Everything seemed to slam back into real time all at once, and Dean realized he wasn't the only one who recognized him. Hopkins was beside Dean in an instant, injuries forgotten, gun raised like it would do something useful. "Cody." he said in a tone that was the complete opposite of calm.

Cody looked up. Twin sets of wide eyes kneeling in the snow looked back at them, Cody's hand still on the man's shoulder. "He's really warm. I think he needs--"

"Get the fuck away from him."

Cody opened his mouth, ready to question, and Hopkins all but yelled, "NOW!"

Cody lifted himself to his feet and stepped back, cautiously raising his weapon to match Hopkins. The guy in the snow seemed unphased by everything going on around him, his attention completely on Dean as he whispered his name again.

The knife in Dean's hand shook.

"You motherfucker." Hopkins said in a low, dangerous voice Dean knew too well to take lightly. "You've sunk this low to pick us off?"

The man did look at Hopkins at that, confusion only just visible in his expression. Dean knew it, like when research was too deep and he was working to solve it.

Hopkins suddenly had his flask of holy water in his hand was flinging the contents at the man within a few seconds. Dean watched as the water sizzled on his cheek and he cried out in pain, bringing a hand to the fresh burns already appearing. Hopkins stepped forward and brought the butt of his gun down across the other cheek.

Dean didn't realize he was moving forward and barking out a concerned yell until Hopkins was rounding on him, pressing his gun right to Dean's chest.

"Don't you even, Winchester." He growled. "You know damn well as I do what he is."

Dean found unchanged hazel eyes when he looked back down, unspoken words hanging heavily in the air, and he couldn't help but think otherwise just for a _second._

_He's not your brother anymore._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Let me just start this off by saying a big thank you to everyone who has left feedback. I really didn't expect this kind of response! So, again, thank you! Enjoy the second chapter :)

----

_And all who heard should see him there,__  
And all shall cry, Beware! Beware!__  
His flashing eyes, his floating hair,__  
Weave a circle around him thrice,  
And close your eyes with holy dread_

- Kubla Khan. Samuel Coleridge

----

Dean voluntarily stayed behind without saying anything.

He listened - didn't watch - as Cody and Hopkins dragged the thing wearing Sam's face away through the snow. Hopkins had said something about needing resources, knowing just the place, and had ordered Cody to help him without so much of a glance at Dean.

Dean stood in the snow a long time, knife held loosely in his hands, staring off into nowhere and only seeing what ran through his head.

----

Dean remembers waking up to a blood red sky above him, the roof and more than half of the church in smoldering ruins around him. He was alone; no Lilith, no Sam, no one. His head was killing him and someone was screaming incoherently, blind grief and confusion following them into nothing.

It took a long time for him to come back to himself and realize he was the one screaming.

----

Sam was dead. Had been since the world burned up and left only ashes. That... thing was a lie.

A damned good impression, but still a lie.

The sun hung higher in the sky and Dean moved to the edge of the woods. The Guard scheduled for the afternoon passed him with acknowledging nods before disappearing into the trees behind him as he numbly made his way back to the town.

A year and a half ago, Dean would have mocked Trinidad, Colorado. A little research turned up that it was infamously known as the sex change capitol of the world, and all other interesting historical facts went right out the window from there.

He could have seen it, gliding across gravel roads in his baby towards another job, Sam in the passenger seat with a map stretched out across his knees as he turned and said, _Guess you can finally become a real girl, Sammy. _He could see the eye roll clear as a day before the sun stopped shining so brightly.

It took Dean a moment to realize the space beside him was empty, and the joke was never uttered out loud.

Dean kicked through snow that covered the sidewalks, uncovering soggy, lopsided devil's traps drawn in chalk. "Humans and Demons" had become the new "Indians and Cowboys" for the kids, all of it still just a game to the younger ones. He tucked his jacket closer to him, shoving his hands into pockets that did nothing to hide his hands from the cold. Soft, cold flakes hit his face and caught in his lashes, falling without sound in the afternoon.

"Dean!" Came a call from one of the houses on his right. Norah stood on the porch of her house, arms crossed over a wrap she wore against the weather. She waved, and Dean did so, too, with a smile. "You look freezing."

Dean shrugged. "Just a little."

"I have some soup on, for when Cody got back. I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing, unless you have somewhere to be?"

Dean couldn't help but grin, stepping up to the fence. "Don't mind if I do."

Inside, Dean breathed a sigh of bliss at the wave of warm air. He took his hands out of his pockets and flexed them, imagining ice chipping off of them, but when he looked down he only found chapped and callused skin. Norah disappeared into the kitchen, calling back, "Coffee?"

"Please!" Dean replied, stomping his feet on the rug in front of the door. Norah appeared seconds later, a steaming chipped mug in her hands. Dean took a sip - warm water with some grinds waved in front of it, not that he was complaining - as she turned to go back into the kitchen. "How are you?" She asked over her shoulder as he followed.

"Do you really need to ask?"

"Honestly?" Her smile slipped a little. "I could hear you all the way back in the woods."

Dean hid his slipping expression behind another sip.

A year ago, in a basement of half starving people in northern Colorado surrounded only by a circle of salt, Norah had been the one to look up seconds before someone could shoot him as he came down the stairs and say, "He's not possessed, goddamnit, he's going to help us." She had been huddled against a wall, her eighteen-year-old son, barely alive, leaning against her and an unloaded shotgun in her hands.

It was days later, in the snow and when neither of them were accepting sleep, that Norah whispered _your brother's not dead_ and Dean knew.

An untrained psychic was dangerous, but then again, a psychic at all was not to be trusted. Before the fire ended and the ash settled, a large number of them found refuge on the other side after being exiled from society, or what was left of it. Even the ones who didn't found a home somewhere away from normal - or as normal got these days - society. Upon mentioning Missouri, though, Norah just shook her head and said, _I've never been out of Colorado. I've heard it's pretty there, though._

Where Norah was untrained in the mind tricks, though, she was as good of a person as Dean had ever met. She was kind-hearted and strong, caring infinitely for Cody and everyone around her. Even after using the last shell in her shotgun to fend off her possessed husband, she never fell to the depression that clung to the backs of many, and Dean respected that completely.

"They brought someone past the circle." She said, aware that Dean knew. It was as if she said it just to make it feel real. "Did they find another survivor?"

"I don't know." Dean lied, and if Norah knew, she made no comment. He put his undivided attention on the wood stove by his legs.

The sound of the door opening and closing ended the conversation. Cody stepped into the kitchen, bringing some of the cold in with him. He looked tired right before he looked up and noticed his mother and Dean, a small smile quickly appearing on his face instead.

"Hi Mom. Dean." He took his gloves off finger by finger and draped them on a line over the wood stove. He stood there for a second, the light from the fire making his skin glow, before he looked up at Dean with that tired look in his eyes again. "Hopkins actually asked me to come find you.

Dean set the mug on the counter behind him. "What for?"

Cody shook his head. "He has a bunch of hunters down at the warehouse with that guy we found. He wouldn't let me go in. Just told me to turn around and go find you, wouldn't tell me why."

----

Dean has somehow kept the memories of the day that everything ended down.

He got out of the dead nameless town in Alabama, purposely turning away from the bodies whose skin had been melted off like wax and ignoring the cries of those who had unmercifully been left alive. He doesn't remember the news reports the further north he got; nothing about a plague in France, the Mediterranean Sea turning blood red, an endless fire spreading in the south, leaving loss in its wake. He somehow drove through it, blind for a reason, never stopping at a motel, numbly getting gas somewhere that had recently been abandoned with the words _closed for judgement day_ scratched into glass.

----

The warehouse stood just a mile away from the inner circle, even further away from the rest of the town, tucked away from prying eyes and sensitive ears. Inside and out it was covered in protective and offensive wards; not much of an effect on humans, but enough to leave anyone - any_thing_ - pretty much immobile. Two of the Guard from the early shift stood on either side of the gaping door, whether they were cold or not never visible on their faces. They were armed to the teeth with their guns and knives, a signal that something nasty was inside. Both to keep people out, and otherwise inside. Dean gave a nod, receiving two in reply as he passed by.

The warehouse was wide and empty before him, and Dean swore that it was somehow even colder in here than out in the snow. His boots rapped dully against the concrete as he moved to the far wall. A trapdoor, also covered in wards, sat in one of the corners. Dean bent down and whispered in Latin, and the lock bolting the door to the floor snapping open on command.

Dean followed the wooden steps that waited beneath . They creaked obscenely, like sound added to a horror movie simply for effect. He followed them in the dark, one hand against the wall. He thought it was cold upstairs, but once he reached the bottom, he felt the temperature drop considerably further.

A single light hung flickering over the center of the room, casting an even paler pallor over the lone figure lying in the most elaborate devil's trap Dean had ever seen. He would know - he helped draw it in the first place. Another one mirrored it, drawn as carefully on the ceiling as it was on the floor and two of the opposing walls.

Five others who stood around the circle, all whom Dean recognized, Hopkins included, turned to give him a quick glance before turning their attention back to the center of the room. Each of them were armed just as heavily as the next, deadly in their silence. Dean joined them, standing just behind the group and closer to the stairs. He picked a spot across the room to stare at, rather than where the rest were looking. Hopkins was speaking, but Dean couldn't hear a single word he was saying. He could just as easily guess the topic.

Steven was the first to break the silence between the rest of them. "Correct me if I'm missing something, Hopkins," he began in a way closer to a growl than anything else, "but are you saying you just dragged the fucking devil himself into our town?"

The thing in the center of the circle looked unconscious, breathing soft and hitching as he lied on his side. His hands were wrenched behind him, tied with rope and chain alike halfway to his elbows. Dean knew without looking closely that they were inscribed with ancient runes that would have burned any other demon to the touch.

Dean accidentally noticed that the thing in the circle was barefoot. His feet were just against the edge of the circle, the soles raw and bloody, and Dean had to fight down instinct. _Protect Sammy, above all else, just keep him safe. _He wanted nothing more than to kneel down and wrap his feet in every pair of socks he had.

Dean looked away, fighting down the thought.

"He certainly doesn't look like the Antichrist." Another man - Jacobs, Dean remembered - said quietly.

Sam, on the other hand, looked like he had barely aged over the year and a half Dean hadn't seen him. His hair was a little longer, still shaggy. His skin was pale, too, but whose wasn't in this world? He was so skinny, though, the outline of his ribs appearing under his thin shirt with every breath he took. He looked just like the kid Dean knew, right down the slight twitch Dean recognized from night after night of watching Sam sleep when he couldn't himself.

"How the fuck do you know who this guy is?" A woman named Anne uncrossed her arms, clenching her fists at her side as she directed her attention at Hopkins. "What _He_ looks like?"

Hopkins gave a humorous shrug. "I've seen things." Few words that said too much, and Anne backed off just a little. "Afterall, I think Winchester over there can back me up on this. Can't you, Dean?" Poison ran through the usage of his first name, and Dean could barely conceal the glare on his face as the rest of the group turned to look at him again, questions deadly in their eyes.

"Have something to say?" Hopkins prodded, and _oh_, that fuck. Before Dean could open his mouth to tell him exactly how he felt, Hopkins turned away and continued. "Winchester here knew the world was ending before we even saw it coming."

Dean kept his attention everywhere but the on eyes of the others, finally accidentally landing on Sam again. When Dean looked closer, he noticed that Sam wasn't asleep. His eyes were open in small slits, hazel green - _normal_ - picking him out and watching him carefully, but not quite coherently.

"Fuck it." Anne said suddenly. "Gimme your demon killin' knife, Winchester."

"It won't do anything." Hopkins continued. "He's already trie--."

"What's done is done." Steven interjected before Hopkins could go any further. "All of that is in the past. What I want to know is how we kill this son of a bitch."

The longer Dean kept his eyes on Sam, the smaller the room felt. The less air there was. He needed air. He needed to get the fuck away from here.

Without a word, Dean turned on his heels and went back up the stairs, leaving five - _six_ - pairs of eyes to watch him leave. He made it outside and around the back of the warehouse just in time before he collapsed to his knees and heaved.

He sat there until more than just his stomach was emptier, the snow starting to fall from the sky and leaving him cold.

----

He does remember driving over the circle that surrounded Bobby's land, sparks of something heavy and powerful meant to keep things out ever stronger. He remembers the look Bobby greeted him with a shotgun from his front door, narrowed eyes that were paying more attention to the empty space beside Dean than Dean himself.

He remembers the way his hands shook, the question _where's your brother?_ going unasked.

He wouldn't have known the answer anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: I kept getting emails alerting me that I was getting favorites and watches from this story, and it hit me that _I have not updated this in over a year_. I'm insanely sorry, and I'll definitely try to keep up with it from now on. There was a point I hit a really horrible writer's block to get from point A to point B, and... well. This update is shorter than the other ones, but here it is!

----

"_On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world._"  
- The Road, Cormac McCarthy

----

It seemed to last forever.

The church and the very ground it stood on shook violently, so much that Dean was afraid the floor would crack open and fling him back into oblivion. He doesn't remember much, except for a piercing bright light that disappeared just as quickly, leaving him on the ground.

Silence never seemed so loud before.

He crawled across the room to Sam, who laid beside the body Lilith has used and disposed of already. Sam was face down against the wooden floor, a pool of blood already forming around him. Dean forced down his panic, refusing to believe until he _saw_. Grasping needy hands on his brother's jacket and lifting him up, he suddenly realized that the blood was the least of his problems.

It was the bright red eyes that replaced Sam's hazel ones.

It was a red Dean had never seen before. It was nothing like the Crossroad demon's eyes. No, this was the color of hellfire and blood, swirling and violent and _in the wrong place._ Dean was dumbstruck for the moment, and shook Sam as if he could shake the awful color from his little brother's eyes. "Sam?"

Sam, on the other hand, hadn't moved, staring blindly at a spot over Dean's shoulder.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, and those eyes finally landed on him. His heart seemed to drop down into his stomach when Sam took a hold of the hands Dean held onto him with and pushed them away without much effort.

And then he smiled, all twisted and _wrong_ on Sam's face.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, and the thing shook Sam's head.

The smallest movement let loose Dean's panic, and before he knew it, the thing wearing Sam's face, bringing Sam's hand up, grabbed a hold of his throat and squeezed. Darkness followed him down, and he thought he could hear the screams of sinners below before he knew no more.

----

Dean jolted awake.

It wasn't anything out of the norm for him those days, not sleeping. Sleep came scarcely to him anymore, leaving him with a permanent chill that no amount of blankets could chase away. He preferred to be on the night shift of the Guard, as it gave him an excuse to be up instead of leaning against a window, staring blankly in the direction of the warehouse across town with no definite reason at all. Snowflakes hit the other side of the glass without a sound, one following each other down, which was also not quite out of the norm.

Dean was expecting the world to end in fire. Cliche` belief, but he had seen it. A whole world ablaze, filled with blood he could never wash away and screams he never stopped hearing. For it to be here, on Earth, in the form of snow and ice... well, Dean caught the irony. Downstairs, no matter the temperature, there was still suffering.

Letting out a heavy breath and watching it fog the window, he turned away and headed towards the door of the small room he used to mostly lay in. Stepping out of the hallway, he was careful with his footing and kept quiet. Others slept under the same roof, as there was no room for everyone to have a separate house, sometimes even a room, to themselves in Trinidad. At some point, maybe, but not anymore.

He made it outside, the cold pressing against him. At the curb, a soft voice from behind stopped him. He looked up to see Norah standing on her porch just at the corner, heavy jacket hastily thrown on and dark circles visible under her eyes.

He quickly grinned. "Can't sleep?"

She didn't smile back, and his own faltered.

"Yeah, me neither." He said, slowly approaching her steps. She watched him carefully.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.

"Tell you what?"

"That who they brought through wasn't a survivor." And Dean could hear the venom behind the words, sharp and not directed at him.

"I never said he was in the first place."

"I can hear him." She snapped, as if she had been holding it and was finally able to let it out. "I can hear every thought going through his mind. Most of it's not human, the parts that aren't calling out for you, and I'll be damned if you and the Guard let him live one more day here."

"You're starting to sound like Hopkins." Dean replied, and she took one meaningful step forward.

"He's not human. He caused _this._" She flung her hand out, one gesture that addressed the entire world. "And you're going to stand here and accuse me of being bloodthirsty? After everything that's happened?"

Dean stayed silent, ever defiant. She continued. "It's a godsend, him, _that thing_, coming here. Now we have the chance to fix things."

"Killing him isn't going to _fix_ anything. What's done is done." He shook his head, hearing whispers from a life that didn't seem to belong to him anymore. "The dead will still be dead."

"It's justice." Norah replied. Dean turned his attention skywards. He could feel snowflakes landing on his cheeks and melting upon contact.

"Do you remember what you told me, after you were out of that basement?" Norah looked at him with a level stare, careful not to let any expression show. "You turned to me, first words you ever spoke to me, and said, 'Your brother is still alive.' You didn't even know me, know my _brother_, and you said that. Do you still believe that?"

"Do _you_?" She answered.

Dean didn't immediately reply, and what eventually came out of his mouth wasn't even a reply. It started as a low chuckle, a crescendo into something much louder and broken and then Dean _couldn't stop._ He was crazy, mad, losing control because of those hazel, yellow, red, eyes that stared back at him and choked him and called for him and-

It was over as fast as it had started, leaving the cold air heavy between Dean and Norah. Meeting each others' gaze, Dean was the one to look away, turning to leave.

"Sam is gone." Castiel had said some time, somewhere different.

"I might be the wrong person to ask." He said over his shoulder to Norah, and he started to walk.

----

The snow had already started to cover sidewalks that were hardly visible from the last time it had snowed, and as he walked, it covered his footprints. Time passed, the moon moving at a snail's pace above him, and he made it to the warehouse. The doors jerked as he opened them, ice from between the crack breaking and sliding across the concrete floor. Three figures inside looked up, surrounding a fire and huddling close. The Guards on duty. They watched him silently, even recognizing him. As a show, Dean pulled out his knife from the hilt on his hip and held it out in the dim light. One man nodded solemnly, understanding, and they all turned back to the fire. Dean bent down over the trap door and unlocked it with a word before heading down.

The light was flickering worse than ever, but Dean could see clear enough. The thing that looked like his brother hadn't moved from the spot where he had been left earlier yesterday. He could hear from the stairs what sounded like someone trying to breathe through smoke. Approaching slowly, as if to a tiger's cage, he stopped at the very edge of the circle to peer down at the quiet figure.

"Sam is gone." Castiel had looked at him so steadily, voice deep and serious. Dean remembered it like a dream. "He's not your brother anymore."

The hand holding the knife shook.

The thing's eyes snapped open and met his immediately. It seemed to breathe louder, struggling with every pull. Dean made sure not to look away, searching those eyes for the devil himself-

"D-Dean..."

- and only finding _Sam._

Dean quickly turned on his heel and left, his brother still whispering his name after him.


End file.
